Saturday, November 24, 2012

If your child was running while looking the other way and knocked another child flat, even if your child came running to you in tears, wouldn't you ask if the other child laying in the dirt crying was OK?

At some point?

Or is that just me?

Well this afternoon it was.

After pre-school pick-up we took Lucie and Buddy to the park.

Exhausting all options with Bud and theFrizzbee, I left him panting in the shade and went into the playground to join in a game of hide and seek.

This is when the incident happened.

Lucie was standing looking about, I was up on the slide and her dad was just behind a fixture so close he could touch her.

A bigger, older boy, looking one way and running flat out the other way, mowed her down, with the point of impact being both their heads. Lucie went face-down in the dirt stunned and the boy went running to his mother who was sitting on a bench a few meters away.

As I shot over to Lucie where the daddy person was scooping Lucie up I heard the boys mother gasp, "What happened? Did someone hit you?" followed by lots of oh my God's.

As I worked on getting the sand out of Lucie's mouth and wiping her tears, I glanced back at the boy and his mum. She was busy examining his head like a triage nurse and looking horrified and confused.

I went over to her and explained that her boy had run into my daughter quite by accident and they'd bumped heads. She didn't look up at me or acknowledge me, so I asked "Is he ok?"

She still didn't look at me, she just tilted his headand parted his hair with a dramatic gaasp; "It's swollen!"

I thought; "Yes, my daughter's fine, thanks for asking" although she's still crying and spiting out sand.

Honestly her boy looked fine, it wasn't like either of them were concussed or anything, but she was carrying on like he'd just been hit by a bus. In fact he was the bus that ran down my little girl.

So I shrugged and left them, her carrying on like a headless chook, and him doing impersonations ofLuis Suarez trying to win a penalty, and I went back to my sobbing little bundle of road-kill.

Kids have playground accidents, some serious some not so. We all know it and we try not to make a big deal of it even when bones are broken because it scares the poor little buggers.

Don't get me wrong; I don't support the 'boys (or girls) need to toughen-up theory' sending them out like gladiators with teeth missing, and blood still flowing. But seriously I don'tthink it does their emotional IQ any good to treat them like fragile little lap-dogs either. But hey, what do I know? Only what Dr Phil and Dr Green told me.. and that's not nearly enough.

Lucie was OK, just a combination of the shock of standing still one minute to being flattened by a blow to the head the next, and also being very tired after a busy day at pre-school. Late afternoons are the short end of the emotional fuse in our household.

As we got in to the car and I watched The Mother rush her son to their car, I wondered is she going to Royal North Shore Hospital? Is she going to turn this boy into a complete basket case (with no manners) or will he go on to become a premier league football player?

I still think most people,even if it wasn't their child who caused the accident, would ask after the other child, no?

On the way home her damp little face got suddenly serious and she asked; "Mummy? Daddy? Did he have a zizi?"*
"I would think so" I said. "He was a boy and all boys have them."
"Yes." Lucie decided. "He DEFINITELY had a zizi."

Has your kid been either the playground bus or road-kill?

What did you do?

Is your child semi-obsessed with confirming gender genitalia?

*Zizi - cute French kid-speak for penis. Girls' 'parts' are called zizette

Monday, November 19, 2012

I can't be mum, I want MY mum!

Even
athoroughly reformed non-breeder like
myself enjoying the many delights of parenthood, finds less than delightful;
being unwell and, being the mummy myself, not having one to take care of me
'till I'm better.

I've
been poorly for a few days - my back is awful and the pain starting in my
waist going through to my legs has been keeping me awake every night, most of the night
:0(

So my
days involve knocking back drugs & napping. Not too productive. Or healthy.

My
favourite cocktail at the moment contains equal parts Ibuprofen &
paracetamol with an Aspirin chaser.. Thank God I had a couple of posts up my
sleeve or my inactivity and drug abuse would have really depressed me.

Yesterday
we had Lucie's final big school orientation and today we are having an uber-lazy
morning (Lucie is still in her PJ's at 2pm!) before we head to the French
market in Killarney. (perhaps another interesting anthropological excursion?)
Then again, since it's raining cats and dogs that ambitious idea may also
remain in it's pyjamas.

I've
made a pair of silly-socks: (Taking step-by-step pics for this rodeo). And a
couple of loads of washing and that's about all I'm capable of.

I'll
go to the chiropractor again tomorrow. Last visit he was quite anxious that I had
such severe sciatic pain down 'both' legs and all the way to my toes. So
I'm not allowed to go to gym (aww damn) and definitely NO LUNGES! (Booooo Hoooo - not)

It's
kind of nice to dag around with not much to do- Lucie's been fighting something
off this week so she's in a constant state of the happy-sads. High as a kite
one minute and crying us a river the next.

She
got really upset Yesterday morning reading a Winnie the Pooh book about a
Valentines Day party Pooh bear threw. She cried her eyes out when I informed her it wasn't
Valentines Day and I ended up making her fairy bread with my heart shaped
cookie cutter for breakfast. Good nutritious choice there.

Of
course she couldn't possibly eat them until we had cut out decorative paper
hearts and a banner AND made Valentine cards for everyone including her giant
toy panther.( who also needed a party hat)

Earlier
she'd used the cookie cutter to trace around and draw walking heart people
which we stuck goggly eyes on.

All
this before her Big School orientation morning number three and i didnt have her lunch-box even nearly ready..

So I
guess I got off lightly with only that and the silly-sock request. (thanks for that
idea, Play School) but I did have some tiny
pine-cones and more glue on eyes (to make hedgehogs) as my back-up plan..

Thank
God for ABC for kids is all I can say, I owe my relaxing day on drugs to them
alone (except Play School because they have waaay too many "you could do
this at home" ideas.)

What do you do when you're sick and you cant get time off (being mum)?

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

There I was just inside the school gate with my little girl turned tree hugger.. That is to say she had wrapped her arms & legs around the trunk of a jacaranda, refusing to go a step further. Screaming ; "NOOOO we have to go home NOOOOOW!

Frantic attempted bribes where quietly uttered causing a momentary lapse in concentration and a loosened grip, but a nano-second later, having lost her hold on the tree she had me in a death- grip instead.

How did it come to this? From leaping out of bed singing "Big school today YAY!" weeks of whining, "why cant I go to the big school NOW?!"

From all that excited anticipation to life & death dread? What the f^ck?

Lucie had been looking forward to 'big' school orientation day like it was Christmas coming early. I can't count the times she'd nearly drowned us both in her tears going to pre-school, insisting she was big enough for big school and that's where we had to go.
She would bounce up and down in her booster seat every night as we drove past her new school playground. And she was super-excited about the kids going to 'big school all getting Unicorns.

Ahh, yeah. "Honey, there's something mummy needs to explain..."

Surprisingly she wasn't especially disappointed when it turned out that instead of getting a unicorn she got a blue gingham dress and a hat with a brim like a dinner plate.

And on the day, where am I?

Stuck in the playground sitting on a log, with Lucie attached to me like a paralysed koala, blocking one annoyed kid behind me wanting to walk the length of it. The kid behind me, like most of the other kids looked happy had excited exploring the new environment.

Well 'most' of them...

I walked Lucie to the class rooms on the pretense of looking to see "what fun games they have" and gradually seeing familiar looking art projects taped to windows, reassuring drawings of dinosaurs, she relaxed enough for us to get her into her classroom and into a seat.

It was still was touch and go for a bit and when I saw the teacher approach with another little girl I thought Lucie might bolt.
Little Elizabeth as her name tag said, was catatonic poor poppet. Obviously too distressed to cry, she was staring ahead with like a bunny caught in the headlights and her chest was heaving in short sharp gasps. The kinder teacher was rubbing her back and talking to her in that reassuring tone police negotiators in movies use on people about to jump off buildings.

Jeeez.

But everyone survived the morning. There were tears: a few kids , one or two parent's. A big noisy tea party in the school hall for the parents where intermittently a few snuck away to peep in classroom windows; you know just to check..

But our little drama queen came out happy, with a fist full of artworks. She wore her uniform proudly all day, to the shops to buy lunch and at home until bed-time.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Swedish meatballs versus French sausage? It's a no-contest. But how far would you go for the good stuff?
Because we forgot to go to the Kings Cross market yesterday for our saussison (France's delicious answer to salami) we had to go to the wild west ( Marrickville) today. We also had to go to IKEA for some random brackets and light globes, so we thought; " Hey lets try the new store at Tempe." Had no idea, never been to Tempe, never heard of Tempe, but apparently it's in the wild west conveniently close to Marrickville Organic Markets.What a cultural acid peel. What a dump.Tempe sounds quite exotic, 'till you get there and see the grand collection of domestic and commercial architectural vomit, with shabby used car yards on every corner. It's like Melbourne's Broad Meadows or Deer Park. No Meadows, no Deer and not Tempe'd to stay here a minute longer than you have to.IKEA was OK, except for the fact that Småland was harder to get into than Chateau Marmont: and believe me, Princess Highway Tempe is a far cry from Sunset Boulevard.We shopped a bit with our funny little trolly-passenger keeping us amused with her kooky banter. And so charmed were we, she totally conned us into buying an enormous floppy panther just before we hit the Ikea cafe, for some Swedish meatballs.

mmmm yummy no?

This is where you most realise you're not in Kansas anymore. Mums and Dads at nearly every table are snarling threats at their kids. I wonder; "Have they not heard of bribes here, then?" [ nervous giggle.]

There's lots of 'Ja wanna anutha smack'ing' And 'WOP'ing going on in that cafeteria.

Fortunately Lucie doesn't notice the elevated levels of child abuse because she's deep in quiet conversation with her new panther and making introductions to Ellie, her little knitted elephant.

An original arthritic-fingers-hand-knit from the Philip Island Country Women's' Association charity shop :0)

Later we're in the lighting department and Lucie gasps "Ellie! Wheres Ellie?" And suddenly it's a code 3 alert with mummy and daddy, eyes akimbo, necks pivoting side to side like a pair of deranged budgies, hunting up and down the isles for this very precious gift from Nana.

"Excuse me have you seen a small knitted elephant?"

With Ellie retrieved, a few loooong queues later, we're back in the car, without the delicious meatballs because they come frozen and are bound to thaw on the long ride back to civilisation. Our GPS co-pilot Kate, tells us to make a sharp right but, "NOT THAT SHARP RIGHT!!" I'm convinced, Homer Simpson, our regular navigator would never have done that to us.

Before you know it we're in a freeway tunnel doing 5klms/hr heading for Canberra (nowhere near the Lower North Shore) and the meatballs are starting to repeat on us.Being trapped in a two kilometre long tunnel, we'd thoughtfully switched the air con to 'recycle' mode, but instead of filling the car with exhaust fumes, now we're asphyxiating on recycled meatball fumes and we're all feeling a little 'off.'A nice song comes on the radio we all like so for a distraction I Shazam it to find out the band name. The song is "I Need You Now" and the band is... Wait for it...Lady Antebellum!

Both grown-ups (I use that term loosely) start laughing. And the conversation goes something like this;

"What kind of a name is Lady Antebellum?""Sounds like a medical condition,""Sounds like a growth,""Oh, sorry can't do Tuesday, I'm going in for day surgery to have my antebellums removed.""Oh yes, I had an antebellum removed from my septum last year.""Oooh, nasty!"

NB so for those who don't know (and I had to look it up) antebellum means 'pre-war'.

Nothing at all to do with disease, or growths or anything that may become attached to anyone's septum, but you've got to admit its a weird sounding word and an odd name for a band. And in my experience, it is especially funny to peopletrapped in small spaces getting intoxicated on ameatball-burp-tainted air-supply.

Try it sometime. Or not.

Post Mortem on the Swedish meatballs; could I be more glad I didn't fork out $12 for a kilo of these monsters? FIVE HOURS LATER!!! They're still with me. Delicious as they were, first time around, [urph] never again!

Tonight at the dinner table as Lucie did a re-enactment of the Blazing Saddles' Baked Bean sequence I could only come to one conclusion: give me French Sausage over Swedish Meatballs any day.

If you live in Sydney and you're curious... La Planchette is the only place to get the good stuff.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

The following, ever so slightly edited, email exchange took place a couple of weeks ago. Names have been changed to protect the innocent (and guilty) and I have asked Ms Moneypenny's permission for re-print rights.

Although she may rethink her decision after reading this, plus she had been drinking when I asked her so the permission may be invalid anyhow...

Much MUCH better with out too much writing going down the side but sensible side-links instead.

That last post was good too!

God, I am at
my desk and I can hear Gavin talking. He is about 30 (? no idea actually)
and looks like boy-band material but God is he a dickhead! He talks too
loud on the phone and he annoys the hell out of me!

Bought myself two pairs of jeans at
lunch today.

It was our 8 year anniversary yesterday
and we both forgot. It was my mum who told us!!!!!

Thanks
luvly- cheered me right up - stuck here in the loo. Bloody Jenny Craig has a LOT to answer for tonight,
bloody disgusting instant Indian.... Grrrrr (that was my tummy actually, must
have been some live animals in that curry)

Anyway what
was I about to say? Oh yeah, we both forgot our last three & considering
its on St Patrick’s day well, were just rubbish too.

Think I
might have to blog about the dangers of trying heat-up diet dinners before
you're due to attend Parent Teacher interviews. Had my legs furiously crossed
for the final five minutes.

The dinner was a
left-over from our house-sitter; now I know why she's so thin...

Ok going to
read Mrs Woog [Woogsworld] for further cheering-up, since I'll be stuck in
the small room for a while yet.

I just want to sigh inwardly and think what a prat Gavin is.
He wouldn't turn it down to a dull roar if I asked him anyway. I did ask
the guy who sits next to me (who I don't like much either) if he would talk
more quietly because he shouts and he said it is just how he talks. So
that is why I don't like him much either. That was about 2 years ago.
I do have a desk by the window though and I have a bookshelf and a plant which
is mine and so it is very nice.

I enjoy listening to Gavin and hating him anyway. About a year ago I
heard him ring up a woman (I think in Taiwan where our factory is) and try to chat her up and ask her out and
it was so cringeable I loved it. She didn't want anything to do with him.

Will you please stop making me laugh,
it’s so not a good idea right now :0(

I was doing laps of the car-park earlier trying to
let off, before I had to go inside and make like a nice normal responsible
parent type.

I still spent the last five minutes of my PT
interview with my legs crossed tight, (& u just try that on kids furniture) and
probably a look on my face a little more earnest than was called for by the
discussion.

Of course the pressure built up & I was almost
jet-propelled to my car. I am a disgusting bloated fart-factory. I am Jaba the hut with lipstick.

Just now Mr Rugrat’s gagging made me laugh & I lost
what little control I was clinging to and this time even the dog left the room.